End of an Era

Topher decided at the end of the 2021-2022 season that he didn’t want to play hockey anymore. It used to be his passion but “hockey culture” eventually wore him (and us!) down. I originally wrote this on August 15th, just a few weeks before the season started. My dad died a day after I wrote it and this has been sitting in my Drafts ever since.

It started with a plastic stick and a foam ball.  You set up a miniature net at one end of the hallway, and as soon as Daddy got home from work it was time to practice.  You called yourself “McDavid James”, a mashup of your favourite hockey player and your favourite radio DJ.  

You were ecstatic the day I told you I signed you up for skating lessons.  It was as if I had given you everything you had ever wanted!  Your smile was the biggest grin I had ever seen.

The lessons were hard but you persevered week after week, struggling to get to your feet after a fall.  You shook your little dog tail, lifting one knee, and then the other.  I was so proud of you when it finally clicked!  You fell seven times that lesson, I counted,  but you were able to get back up each and every time.

Hockey was overwhelming at first.  I remember having to read articles on Pinterest to learn how to put your gear on.  We learned how to tie skates, how to wash hockey equipment, how to measure the correct height for a stick, how to tape socks, how to mold mouthguards.  Daddy and I got comfortable driving from one end of the city to the other, in all different types of weather, and we learned which rinks had the warm bathrooms and which ones had the good concession stands.  It was a steep learning curve, but we figured it out!

You were so proud of your first medal at the Timbits Jamboree!  That was the first of many … Over the years you’ve won tournament after tournament.  You have a silver medal from Minor Hockey Week and a gold medal from the City Championships.  You’ve traveled all over Alberta and last year you even made it to BC, winning every single tournament your team entered.  

You started out at the bottom of Tier 6, but by the end of your hockey days you were in the top colour of Tier 2 - and if you had finished your last year with Whitemud West, there is no doubt in my mind that you would have been Tier 1! You worked so hard every single year, and every single year you moved up.  We had coaches telling us “Don’t let him quit hockey!  He’s really good!” 

But you knew when you were done.

I’ve loved being a hockey mom.  I haven’t loved the cold, the early morning practices, or the stink in my front entry from the gear bag that is always, always, always in the way  - but I’ve loved watching you do what you love.  I’ve loved watching you work hard in practices and games.  I’ve loved watching you learn and grow.  

Last year I especially loved how you stood up for what you believed in, even when the rest of your team didn’t.  You know you could beat that St. Albert team and you stood by what you said.  Even when nobody else believed in the team, you did.  To me, that was just as much of a “Proud Mom Moment” as the moment you mastered standing back up on your skates or your Minor Hockey Week “Moment of Glory”, because that was a moment when you showed your true colours.  All through your hockey career you’ve been positive, you’ve been an encourager, you’ve showed good sportsmanship.  And I was so proud when Zane’s mom told us what happened in the dressing room, how Zane told her the team was horrible to you but that you still said you could win - and you were right. 

I don’t know what the next year will bring.  Maybe you’ll miss hockey, maybe you won’t.  Maybe you’ll fall in love with drama or soccer or the guitar.  I’m sad that hockey is over, but I hope you remember the lessons you’ve learned from your years on the ice:

Work hard.

Always try your best.

Believe in yourself.

Believe in your friends.

Persevere - even when it gets hard.

And be yourself - even when others give you a hard time.

I’m proud of you, T!  

Love,

Mom

Then & Now

Nathan and I fell in love Friday nights at youth.  It wasn’t the only place we spent time together - we also went to the same church, the same small group, and the same Bible college - but youth was where we got to know each other.  He was the worship leader and I led a small group of junior high and high school girls.  

For some reason, I barely spoke to him at church, he barely acknowledged me at small group, and our paths rarely crossed at school, but at youth we became friends.  I don’t know what it was about youth that was so different from all the other places … Maybe it was because we were doing ministry together.  We were in the trenches.

Sure, we had fun while we taped kids to the wall and played Salmonella Tube and Horse Cup - but we bonded in the hours after youth, when we prayed over everything from high school bullies to dating drama to family situations to cancer scares.  Nathan doesn’t have tear ducts, but I cried with (and over) those kids - and we celebrated with them, too.    

Our first date was a Friday night when youth was canceled.  We were so used to being together on Friday nights that when the pastor said there would be no youth on Good Friday, we decided to spend the evening together instead.  We held hands for the first time while we rollerbladed in the park - and the following week, when we held hands at youth, you better believe those kids celebrated with us! 

***

This year Topher started youth.  I think it was a bigger deal for Nathan and I than it was for him.  We retired as youth leaders ages ago - we’re old, and Topher wouldn’t think we were cool enough anyway! - but it was a real full circle event.  I documented it with photos and he rolled his eyes in just about every single one.  

Last Friday, Nathan dropped Topher off at youth and then came home to scroll through his phone.  He sat on one side of the couch and I sat on the other.  It was a far cry from how we used to spend our Friday evenings.  

“Hey, it’s almost like a date night!” I joked.  Nathan barely glanced up from his phone.  

“When’s the last time we had a date night?” he asked. 

Neither of us could remember.  Maybe it was our anniversary, in August?  No - I was sick then, so we didn’t go out anywhere.  Maybe it was in April, when we celebrated our date-iversary?  Probably not, since it was mid-week and we wouldn’t have wanted to be out late on a work night.  (We’re old!)  Maybe for Nathan’s birthday?  No, we took the kids with us, so that wouldn’t count.  Maybe it was before Christmas, when we went to pick up the grocery order without the kids?  

Yes, we agreed.  That was probably our last date.  

***

Nathan was up surprisingly early on Saturday morning.  I’m always up early on Saturdays because I like to get the groceries before the store is busy, but Nathan usually stumbles downstairs just in time to open the door for me when I start bringing the groceries inside the house.  This week he got up early and came with me. 

At first I was annoyed.  I won’t lie.  I can’t sneak my extra chocolate into the cart when he’s there!  But as he pushed the cart up and down the aisles, my annoyance turned into appreciation.  

Sometimes that’s what love after babies looks like.  It’s not always glamorous.  Nathan and I have seen each other at our absolute worst and at our absolute best.  He’s supported me through three pregnancies, one miscarriage, the death of a parent - and all the ugliness and messiness that’s just a part of doing life together.  

These days there aren’t as many fancy dresses or late nights out.  We can’t afford the fancy clothes and we’re too old to stay out past ten more than once or twice a year.  Instead we steal moments of time together when we can.  Sometimes it’s as mundane as running errands together, getting groceries without the kids or walking the dogs around the block a few times while we talk about the events of the day.  Sometimes it’s dancing in the kitchen to the soundtrack of the villagers while the kids play Minecraft in the living room next door.  And sometimes it’s Friday nights on the couch, counting down the minutes until we can pick up our own little youthling.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Love After Babies".

Rest & Reflection

“Hey, I finished that letter for you.”

“Thanks,” I said, wiping my hair out of my face with the back of a sudsy hand.  We were in the church kitchen, washing dishes after youth.  Snack time had gotten a bit messy.  Frosting is rarely a good idea when middle school boys are involved. 

“I can give you a copy if you want to read it.”

“No, it’s okay,” I replied.  When someone agrees to write a reference letter for you it’s always good, right?  Why would I need to see it?

“I was … honest.” 

I noticed the pause.

“Honest?  What does that mean?” I glanced at him.

“I mean … it was a good letter.  I highly recommended you.  Of course I did.” 

Now he was backtracking.  Maybe I should read the letter?

“What did you say?” 

He crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter.  

Great.  He was settling in for a discussion.

“I said you’d be good.  I said you’d be a great fit in the program.  I said you’re a hard worker.  Passionate about youth.”

“But?” 

“But … I said you struggle with being present.  You do.  You know you do.  You’re always looking at what’s ahead.  Like your countdowns.  You’re focussed on what’s ahead instead of what’s right now.” 

“So?  What’s wrong with that?”  I was miffed.

What an unfair thing to say.  Of course I was looking ahead. Looking ahead was the only thing that had gotten me through the past few years.

My young adult pastor had said something negative about me in his recommendation letter.  What would the college think?

****

Looking back - he was right.  His assessment was accurate. 

I’ve never been good at reflection.  That feels strange to admit, me being a writer and all, but it’s true.  I’ve always been more focused on what’s ahead of me than on what’s behind.  

This year is no different.  I’ve never been big on New Year’s itself -  it’s just another day and I know that starting a new calendar doesn’t change anything - but I’ve been ready to turn the page on 2022.  It was a tough year.  I was done.  

On December 31, I attended a Rest & Reflection session with the ladies of Exhale, a community for creative moms.  I’ve been a member of Exhale for years but my participation has been wholly dependent on how much time and energy I have. (Sort of like my writing, come to think of it …) The majority of the session was for reflection on the past year, with the idea that you need to reflect on the past before you’re ready to move ahead into the future.

We were given time to journal and reflect on what we're thankful for, answered prayers, unexpected joys and saving graces.  I wrote about a memory I won’t forget, the hardest lesson I learned, and what one thing I would change, if I had control over any one thing in 2022.

I left the session feeling unexpectedly … at peace.   

I spent so much of 2022 feeling completely overwhelmed.  Frazzled.  At the end of my rope.  More often than not I felt like I was doing the next thing I needed to do to stay afloat and that was it.  All year long.

It was a difficult year - but during the reflection I realized that I can see things I accomplished and lessons I learned.  I set boundaries.  I advocated for my health.  I learned to rest.  We took a family vacation for the first time in years and made lasting memories.  I learned over and over again that I can do hard things. There was a lot of pain throughout the past year but there was a whole lot of goodness sprinkled throughout as well.  

****

At the end of the session we were invited to speak out loud a dream.  

I’ve been in survival mode so long that it was a struggle.   Can I dream?  Is it okay to do something so … frivolous?  Can I take time to set goals and make plans and do something that is creative purely for the sake of being creative?  It feels like such a luxury these days.    

The world is on fire and I’m often still at a loss for words.  Am I wasting my time?

****

No.

I’m learning that creativity is an important part of who I am.

Writing is how I reflect.  Writing is how I process … 

But this year, I’m not setting concrete goals for my writing.  I’m not aiming to submit X number of essays to X number of places each month.  I’m not planning to unearth the book proposal that’s taking up space on my old computer.  

This year, I’m writing for the sake of writing.

Ashlee ended the Rest & Reflection session with a beautiful prayer, and the line that stuck out to me was this:  “Let us be satisfied with adding beauty to the world and let that be enough.”  

Yes.  Let that be enough.

INS & OUTS 2023

I’ve seen lists like this everywhere online and decided to make my own. I can’t help it, I love a good list!

IN FOR 2023:

comfy pants // measured water bottles // braids // reading fiction // poetry // slow Saturdays // little free libraries // barn days // cozy blankets // vacations // making time for breakfast // walks around the pond // community groups // fun nail polish // sparkly anything // swimming // kind words & encouragement // family game nights //boundaries // saying thank you // saying no // prioritizing creativity // compassion

OUT FOR 2023:

tight pants // Netflix // working weekends // apologizing for silly things // running // social media // Costco // funeral outfits // low ponytails // doom scrolling // Takis // crop tops // buying clothes I don’t love // purchasing from MLMs to make friends who sell the products happy // overcommitting // taking days to respond to texts // feeling bad for saying no // reading books I’m not into // anti-aging anything // 2 a.m. anxiety // judgement

At a Loss

Ellie is very careful when she pours milk on her cereal.  She is cautious.  She pours so slowly, tilting the carton ever so slightly to make sure she doesn’t spill.

She tipped a 4 litre jug once.  That was the Epic Kitchen Flood of 2020, which we only we speak of in hushed voices. 

Lately my words feel like Ellie’s milk.

Slow.  Cautious.

Just a slight tip - because if I tilt too far, my words will spill across the page in a flood I can’t control.

***

I lose a lot of things in the span of a month.  Nathan jokes that he has to keep an eye on me because I often get distracted.  You never know when you’re going to find car keys in the dog food bin or a cell phone in the refrigerator.  I work full time, I “mom” full time - it is what it is!

But loss has taken on a new meaning for me in the past month.  On August 16, I lost my dad.

Truthfully, I feel like he was lost long ago, for reasons I won’t go into.  We never had much of a relationship.

I feel guilty for grieving - 

But I am still grieving the loss. 

The loss of what was, the loss of what never was, and even the loss of what could have been. 

***

And I feel I’m at a loss for words.

Either they spill across the page in a nonsensical flood or they drip - drip - drip in halting pen scratches as I search for what I want to say.  

***

When I lose my keys, my family helps me look for them until they’re found.  The same goes for my cell phone or my wallet. But when I lose my words, life continues on around me for everybody else while I’m still scrambling to make sense of it all.  

***

But I’m pouring.  Slowly and cautiously, with just a slight tip to see where this takes me.

Love God & Love People

“Hey, can we talk?” He turned in his chair, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.

“Sure, come on in.” I could see how tired he was. We’re all tired these days.

“Do you think they’re doing the right thing?” I curled up in the chair next to him.

He knew what I was talking about. Our church was going ahead with multiple Christmas Eve services, even though other churches in the city had cancelled theirs in light of the rising COVID cases.

“I don’t know. People come to church at Christmas who would never come otherwise.”

“I know. But how many of them actually … stay? After a Christmas program?”

He rubbed his eyes again.

“I don’t know, I don’t know the numbers.”

I pressed on.

“How many people do you think are leaving the church? Because of how the church has handled all of this?” I waved my hand in the air.

“Lots. I know, lots.” He turned back to face the screen, rubbing his forehead.

“What do you think is the right way to handle it?”

He didn’t answer me for a long time.

“I think …” he hesitated, and I could tell he was trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say without making me mad. “I think there is no right way to handle it. I think it’s one of those things … we’ll ask when we get to heaven. ‘Hey, God, remember that pandemic? How did you want the church to handle it?’” He shrugged. “I know you like things wrapped up in a bow. Rights and wrongs. Definite answers. But I don’t think you’re going to get one here. I don’t think we’re going to get one in our lifetime.”

I sighed. Sometimes I really hate it when he’s right.

“So then - what do we do?”

“Love people.” He reached for the Tylenol bottle on the desk. I think he’s had a headache for the better part of two years now. “Love God, and love people. That’s it. That’s what we know so that’s what we do.”

That’s what we know, so that’s what we do.

He makes it sound so easy.

“Which people?” I want to ask, but I know he’ll say “All of them.”

And I know he’ll be right.

Sometimes I really hate it when he’s right.

Because I’ve never struggled to love others as much as I have over the past two years.

As much as I have over the past week.

And I’ve never been sitting on so many drafts, filled with so many swear words.

Love God and love people, he says.

Hrmph.

When I'm Fighting For Joy

Father,

I’ve stopped fighting for joy, and what should be no surprise to me, I haven’t been able to find it. I’ve believed the lie that joy would just come when life slowed down, when circumstances got better, or things happened the way I had planned. But if that’s what I’m waiting on to experience joy, I will be waiting for an eternity. Lord, help me to start fighting for joy again. Help me to choose it in any circumstance knowing that in YOU, I find true joy. Help me to pause long enough in your presence because it’s there that I find the fullness of joy. When present circumstances long to steal my joy, the world convinces me there is something healing about blaming others, becoming a victim to what’s going on, or believing the lie that no one understandss. Father, You understand. And You’ve still told me joy is not only possible, but it’s found in You.

So let it be.

An excerpt from Springboard Prayers by Valerie Woerner

Favourite Reads of 2021

I read a lot in 2021. Looking back on my list now, I realize that the vast majority of the books I read were fiction, and a lot of the ones I really enjoyed were ones I borrowed from my 11-year-old son. I was hesitant to share my list of favourites after that realization - because how many grown women are reading books intended for junior high kids? - but I enjoyed them, so maybe you will too! And hey, we all need a little escape sometimes, right?

Here are some of my favourite books of 2021:

1. Fighting Forward by Hannah Brencher. This is EASILY my favourite book of the year, and one I will reread often. Hannah uses the analogy of a song - each song starts with a single note. Every note - and every little step you take - builds into an anthem. It’s beautifully written, full of hope and encouragement and light. If you buy one book to read in 2022, it should be this one.

2. All Four Stars & The Stars of Summer by Tara Dairman. I read the first two books in the series and am trying to hurry Topher along in his reading so I can steal the third one from him. It’s a great story about a really loveable little girl who becomes a restaurant critic - without anyone realizing she’s just a kid.

3. Ungifted & Supergifted by Gordon Korman. Gordon Korman was one of my favourite authors when I was a kid so I was very happy when I realized he still writes, and that his books are still hilarious. Ungifted tells the story of an ordinary boy who ends up at a school for gifted children, and Supergifted tells the story of one of his gifted classmates trying to fit in at regular school.

4. Restart by Gordon Korman. Restart is about bully who loses his memory after falling off a roof and hitting his head. He doesn’t remember being a bully - or why he was on the roof - and he has to learn who he was all over again. Then he has to decide if who he was is who he really wants to be.

5. Schooled by Gordon Korman. Schooled tells the story of a very sheltered ninth grade boy who ends up attending public school while he is in foster care because his grandma is in the hospital. He’s an easy target for the other kids to pick on, and he becomes the butt of a school-wide joke when he’s nominated for - and wins the job of - class president. But the unschooled teaches the schooled about kindness and acceptance.

6. The Unteachables by Gordon Korman. The Unteachables are just that - a group of supposedly “unteachable” kids that nobody can reach. Their teacher is just counting time until he can retire, and he only ended up with the class as a punishment after being disgraced by a cheating scandal years earlier. The book explores the question of whether the kids are really unteachable - or if they’re just misunderstood.

7. The Heroes of Olympus series by Rick Riordan. Topher begged me to read the first book in this series and I put it off for months before I even cracked the cover. I had no interest whatsoever in reading stories about Greek gods. But it only took the first page of the first book to capture my attention, and I read through that entire series, the Apollo series, the Percy Jackson series, the Magnus Chase series - and I’m waiting for the Kane Chronicles at the library. The Heroes of Olympus is easily my favourite series.

2021 Recap

Everybody seems to be writing their 2021 recap posts this week: The good and the bad, the goals achieved and the goals abandoned, the lessons learned, the hopes for the new year.

I’ve spent a lot of time grumbling about it. What’s the point?

That question has actually been on the forefront of my mind since at least October: What’s the freaking point?

I’ve been burnt out from work, overwhelmed with the sheer hopelessness of the situation we find ourselves in. I’ve been frustrated with friends and family members who dismiss it all. I’ve typed more death reports since October than I have in the past 14 years combined. I’m tired of arguing, I’m tired of keyboard warriors who believe everything they read on social media, and I’m tired of people who used to be my friends telling me it’s time to “move on”.

I’m a writer, people. The things I’ve been through since March 2020 will not be forgotten.

So no , the end of 2021 was not the best for me. I’m usually ready to decorate for Christmas well before Halloween, but this year it was the middle of December before we put the tree up. I think we turned the outside lights on three times all season. New Year’s came and went with absolutely no fanfare, because I just didn’t have the capacity for anything extra.

I still don’t, if I’m being honest.

But 2021 wasn’t all bad …

We added a new furry family member in June.

Topher’s back at hockey and he has a great team. They travelled to a tournament in BC a couple of weeks ago which they won! They’re a really gritty bunch of kids - they can be down 4-1 in a game and then pull out a 7-5 win out of nowhere in the third period. They’re a lot of fun to watch!

Ellie self-published two books in a series about dragons: Purple Dragons and Killer Dragons. She always has at least half a dozen books in the works - she has such a great imagination! She gave a copy of each to her teachers and they’ve put them in her class library - she feels like a superstar!

I read 64 books. I’ve always loved reading but this year it really became an escape for me! I spent so many evenings under my fuzzy blanket with my dogs snuggled up next to me, with my nose in a book. It was absolutely fantastic! Nathan’s never been much of a reader but this year I got him into audio books - he has Audible on his phone and he listens to books as he drives. We’re both reading the Thrawn Ascendancy trilogy right now - even if you’re not a Star Wars fan, Timothy Zahn is such an amazing writer, I’m sure you’ll get hooked! (But start with the original “The Thrawn Trilogy”, then the “Thrawn” trilogy, and then the “Thrawn Ascendancy” trilogy. It’s confusing, I know, but trust me. It has to be read that way.)

I didn’t write much online, but I did write a lot. I finished the most S of SFDs of my book, and then decided to switch the whole thing from a memoir to a fiction novel so that’s my project for the new year. I also found my inner activist in 2021 and wrote SO MANY LETTERS to MLAs, MPs, Ministers of this and that, the Premier. I’m pretty sure nobody read a single one (because that’s how government works in Alberta) but I sent so many, I almost had to start a new line in our budget for postage!

I haven’t set any goals for 2022 yet. “Survival” will be a big one, I’m sure. I’ve started a gratitude journal, which will hopefully help pull me out of the funk I’ve been in for what feels like forever. I’ve got a lot of writing projects to resurrect, and if COVID cases ever slow down I’m hoping to be able to visit my family in New Brunswick for a couple of weeks this summer. Topher and Ellie haven’t seen their cousins in years, and the last time they saw their grandpa in person was 2013, when Ellie was only 5 months old, so a trip is long overdue!

Happy New Year, friends!

I hope 2022 brings you good things, but most of all, I hope it brings hope and joy. For all of us.

Open Staircases

When I was a little girl, Friday nights were for grocery shopping. My parents would load my sisters and I into the car, drive down the hill, through the covered bridge, and into town. I grew up in rural New Brunswick so “town” was one street with one shopping centre consisting of a grocery store, a pharmacy, a convenience store, and a fried chicken restaurant. Past the pharmacy was an open staircase that led to a second level of business offices.

I loved Friday nights! My mother would let me help push the cart and I always got to add extras - treats for us as well as our menagerie of pets.

Sometimes my mother would turn a blind eye and let us race through the courtyard, running up the stairs and back down. Those nights were the best!

***

The week before the world shut down, I accompanied my son’s class on a field trip to the local waste management centre. Part of the trip was indoors, several floors up a winding open staircase. I remember Topher taking the inside, tucking his little arm into mine, while I placed each foot carefully on the step in front of me. I couldn’t bring myself to look over the edge.

What a far cry from racing up and down the stairs in the courtyard!

***

Eleven and a half years of motherhood has changed me. Things that would have never crossed my mind as a little girl keep me up at night.

What if one of my kids has an allergic reaction to something?

What if one of them runs into traffic?

What if there’s a school shooting?

What if Topher gets hurt in hockey?

What if Ellie gives in to peer pressure?

What if, what if, what if …

***

When I was a little girl I focused on the fun and adventure of that open staircase. As an adult I focus on my fear of the empty space. I look at what’s NOT there instead of what is, worrying about what could happen instead of concentrating on the solid step beneath my feet.

All too often I forget about the God who created me, and the fact that the same God created my kids.

On Christ, the solid rock I stand.

It’s a lesson that I need to learn over and over and over again: How to parent with an open mind and open hands. I constantly have to remind myself that I don’t have to be a perfect mother, I just need to do my best as a co-worker with a sovereign God. And - this is the hard part! - trust that He knows what He’s doing, and has a plan for my kids’ lives, no matter what happens.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Unmaking Fears".